


Three & a Half

by RetrobrandTerobrand



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Dealing with war, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetrobrandTerobrand/pseuds/RetrobrandTerobrand
Summary: One of them had a fucking dog.Sideswipe rolled his shoulders, head heavy on his neck as the foreign swear rolled over in his processor. It felt right for the situation. ‘Frag’ just wasn’t quite capturing his aggravation right now.“A dog,” Sideswipe deadpanned, and three pairs of identical red optics blinked at him, “A human, organic dog.”There was a was a beat of silence, where Sideswipe breathed calmly despite the turmoil knotting itself in his spark, before one of them spoke up.“Her name is Buster,” Thundercracker offered weakly, and Sideswipe could have rolled over and deactivated on the spot.





	Three & a Half

Dealing with the death of his twin was one thing, but dealing with three seekers, ex killers, ex assholes, /ex Decepticons/, was chaos with a capital C. 

________________________________________

“No.”

Prowl shuffled the datapad in front him, optics bored as he stared back at Sideswipe, “I’m afraid you don't have much of a choice in the matter. Besides, Ratchet said that this’ll be beneficial for you.”

“Ratchet isn’t a therapist,” Sideswipe sneered.

“Well, neither Rung or Froid are here to offer their services, so-”

“So,” Sideswipe interrupted, denta grinding in irritation, “Hand them off to someone else.”

“No one else is fit to handle them, I’m afraid.”

“Ironhide, Jazz, Wheeljack, Arcee-”

“All busy with their own Decepticons, or, busy with rebuilding Cybertron,” Prowl said fairly, but the tone was enough to set Sideswipe off again.

Black digits rubbed irritably over his spark casing, and he fixed another glare on the Praxian.

His spark was hurting again.

He wanted to go home.

/Alone/.

Not with three seekers he certainly wasn’t fit to handle. Was this their idea of a suicide watch? Or some sort of sick replacement they thought suitable of Sunstreaker? Both options bristled his E.M field.

Sideswipe opened his mouth to protest again, but Prowl held up a hand, and narrowed icy blue optics at him. “Enough. Accept your responsibility, and don't complain. What's done is done, and I suggest you be ready when they’re delivered.”

Sideswipe huffed, “They’re mechs Prowl, not a bunch of spare repair bolts getting dropped off in a box.”

“They’re Decepticons.”

Sideswipe let a mocking expression of relief fade over his face, hand on his spark as he gave Prowl a withering look, “Oh, so you’ve finally realized! Great, now hopefully you know how high the likelihood of them murdering me in my sleep is.”

“The agreement-“

“Fuck the agreement.”

How much death had to be siphoned from each side until there was finally one? 

Too many, and Sideswipe was sick of pretending to enjoy the view of destroyed buildings and their slow reconstruction. Cybertron was still a wasteland, full of burnt metal and crumpled cities. Their home was back, but it wasn’t much of a home when more than half of the population was dead. 

“Then I suppose I’ll have to assign another Autobot into your living quarters-“

“Fuck that.”

Prowl raised an optical ridge.

The frontliner avoided his gaze, optics flickering over to the window. There wasn’t much of a view, and if Cybertron was an organic planet, he suspected the building the Autobots has claimed as headquarters would have been overgrown with too many plants to count.

“Are we done, Sideswipe?” Prowl asked in a tone that suggested he was trying to be sympathetic. 

Sideswipe fled the room without another word.

He had an insecticon runt at home that had probably already torn up all his belongings by now.  
______________________________________

Prowl had kept firm on his promise, for once, and the three seekers were already in his apartment when he arrived home.

Ironhide was with them, as grumpy as Sideswipe was about his ‘privacy’ being invaded.

He left with a short good luck, stomping out the door while the purple one, Sky something, snickered.

The other two just stared at him, faces bland and bored, and Sideswipe had been awkward on his feet, shuffling back and forth, lost for words, until he spotted the tiny, brown and definitely not metal thing, in the blue ones arm.

And all pit broke loose.  
____________________________  
One of them had a fucking dog.

Sideswipe rolled his shoulders, head heavy on his neck as the foreign swear rolled over in his processor. It felt right for the situation. ‘Frag’ just wasn’t quite capturing his aggravation right now.

“A dog,” Sideswipe deadpanned, and three pairs of identical red optics blinked at him, “A human, organic dog.”

There was a was a beat of silence, where Sideswipe breathed calmly despite the turmoil knotting itself in his spark, before one of them spoke up. 

“Her name is Buster,” Thundercracker offered weakly, and Sideswipe could have rolled over and deactivated on the spot.

“She's friendly, I swear!”

“Then get her to stop barking,” Sideswipe hissed, doing his best to calm a squealing Bob down, claws scratching a flaking mess all over his floor as he jostled this way and that.

Sideswipe had grabbed his scruff bar in an attempt to stop him from knocking everything over, but so far the attempt had done nothing to stop an expensive vase from shattering, and to his sparks aching, an old portrait. 

The purple one was laughing, while Starscream watched on in disdain, picking absently at his long claws.

Thundercracker stood awkwardly, stroking the brown beast with one finger while it barked and growled.

He laughed nervously, and shushed her once more. “You wouldn't happen to have any asparagus, would you?”

Sideswipe blinked, and his grip on Bob loosened, “What?”  
_______________________________________

As it turned out, spending a long, long time on Earth didn't do anything to aid Sideswipe’s knowledge of organic animals, and it took locking Bob away in his berth room before Buster calmed, and now her tail wagged merrily as she darted around Sideswipe’s feet, still barking, but not quite at the deep, aggressive level as before.

Sideswipe didn't know what to think of it.

Or how in the world the blue idiot had gotten it on Cybertron without the thing dying. Didn't organics need air? Thundercracker scooped her up, frowning as Sideswipe tried to keep his ventilations under control.

Not another stupid fragging spark attack.

His spark itched and ached, and he ignored the urge to scratch at his casing.

Blue optics narrowed, automatically drawn to the tiny white shards on the floor, and none of them, to his irritation, seemed to wither in any kind of guilt.

Sideswipe didn't dare look at the ruined painting on the floor.

“Well,” Starscream prompted, “Are you going to clean it up, or what?”

Sideswipe’s digits twitched, and he turned, “Don't step on the shards.”

His spark twisted, hearing the disgruntled murmurs behind him and the scraping of oversized wings on the wall, and he only let out the ragged breath his ventilations had been holding in until he was locked away in the privacy of his own berthroom.

Bob whined, launching at him, tiny hands grasping at each other as he did his best to worm his way under the red mechs arm.

He clucked a sad tune, antennae twitching as he glanced around the room.

Sideswipe shook his head, and Bob churred a low note, before letting out a harrowed howl.

Buster joined in soon after, and Sideswipe couldn't help but stare up at the dark sky with muted audials.

“How could you leave me here with his? Slagger.”

Sideswipe sighed, optics following the splatter of Stars on the sky. He had missed them when the pollution from the war got so heavy they covered almost every inch of the sky in black. On earth, it was a decent surprise to find that in some places, their stars were just as vibrant. 

He and Sunstreaker had often spent their off time just looking at them and pointing out dumb shapes. 

Bob whined again, and Sideswipe felt another twinge along his spark

“... Miss you.”

Both animals cried long into the night, but Sideswipe didn't bother answering the irritated pings from Starscream.

Whatever it was, they could figure it out themselves. It wasn't like they couldn't figure out how to use the energon dispenser, or the washracks. As long as they didn't use Sunstreaker's waxes, Sideswipe didn't care what they did.

And maybe luck would be with him and they’d figure out how to open the large window in the lounge area.


End file.
